The Fool - Or Thirteen Rides to Floor Thirteen
by Andrewmalius
Summary: Temping in an office sucks ass, so Dean is gonna enjoy the hell out of his one single perk - the hot guy they take the elevator with every day. It's a pity the guy doesn't speak English, of course, but he can enjoy the view anyway, right? Or - Dean spends thirteen elevator rides gushing to Sam about how hot is while Castiel is right there.
1. The first through fourth times

" _Dude_."

"…"

" _Dude!_ "

"…"

"Sammy!"

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Pay attention, dammit!"

Sam Winchester rubbed mutinously at the back of his head. It was far far too early for this. " _What?_ "

Dean grinned at him childishly and made the most oh-god-he's-not-serious-why unsubtle nod towards the only other person in the elevator. Then his oh-so-mature older brother mouthed something. It might have been _.god_ or it might have been _.hot_ , Sam's lip-reading skills seemed to suffer at 6am in the morning.

Why _had_ he let Dean talk him into switching shifts so they could drive in to work together? The bus was perfectly adequate. He could read the news on the bus. He could work on his studies on the bus. He could _sleep_ on the bus. He could be getting more sleep _squared_ and instead he was in the world's slowest elevator at _6am_ watching his idiot brother make faces at him.

Because he knew that Dean would only get more ridiculous if he didn't at least look, Sam expended the bare minimum of energy and tilted his head to the right to look more closely at the other Poor Sod Who Is Up Too Early. Dark hair, blue eyes, a stony expression that seemed to indicate Sam was not alone in being displeased about the hour. A really _awful_ overcoat. No seriously, who even wore things like that?

Apparently pleased that Sam had turned his head that extra inch or so and looked at the object of his attention, Dean grinned again and offered the Poor Sod In the Bad Coat a slow and again painfully unsubtle look that implied not only that mental undressing was going on, but also that mental bedsprings were being sprung and god _it was too damn early for this_.

"Hey there," Dean said, eyebrows doing their eyebrow thing while Sam thought hard about trying to melt through the floor of the elevator. "Rough weekend?"

Silence stretched out. Poor Sod in the Bad Coat stared at the door of the elevator. His face didn't even twitch, which was rather impressive really. Sam wondered if he could do a paper on the relative unmeltability of elevator floors as compared to the level of awkwardness on the inside.

"I went fishing at this place I know near the lake," Dean continued, apparently unshaken. "It's nice to get away from the bustle sometimes, y'know?"

Again. Silence. Fish and weekends were added to the uncomfortable number of things the people in this elevator were not talking about.

"Unless you're a bustle kind of guy – which I get. I'm a fan of city streets too. Everything to its own place, if you ask me."

Sod in the Bad Coat did not point out that he _hadn't_ asked Dean. Neither did Sam. Neither did the elevator. What the elevator _did_ do was ding to a stop at level 13 and left Sod in the Bad Coat off still in complete and utter silence.

Dean cursed as the lift doors closed again. " _Dammit_."

Sam said nothing. It was far too early to be drawn into a conversation about his brother's sex life.

Day 1. Later, but still too early for this.

"Heya Sammy." Dean slung himself heavily over the back of Sam's chair and flipped his keyboard over absently. "Ready for lunch?"

I love my brother, Sam told himself. He's a decent, hard-working man who had to deal with too much too young and never got to mature properly because of it. I really am very very fond of him. I do _not_ want to staple his hand to his forehead. "It's _eleven_ , Dean."

"We ate breakfast at five-thirty, dude. I'm hungry."

"My lunch isn't until 11:45." Sam turned his keyboard the right way up, removed his mouse from his brother's grip and coloured another row on the spreadsheet he was working on. Puce, lime green, the yellow that wasn't bright yellow and red.

"So?"

"Zach doesn't like us taking breaks early, Dean." Dean knew this. Sam knew that Dean knew this. Dean knew that Sam knew that Dean knew this. They'd been in this company for two weeks and five days and _already_ Dean knew every possible way to get on Sam's nerves. "Go back to your pod."

"What Zach doesn't find out, he won't know."

"Dean…" Sam turned his chair around and pressed both palms over his eyes very hard. "Do we have to have the 'you are not a secret agent' conversation again?"

"Maybe you just think I'm not because I'm _that good_."

They looked at each other for a few beats. Chuck wandered by with his 'I Love Lucy' coffee mug and gave them an indecipherably nervous look. Sam, having now been awake long enough to start deciphering the indecipherable, swung back to his work. "Go back to work, Dean."

"But Sammy, I figured out why hot dude in the elevator wouldn't talk to me."

"Uh huh?" Sam clicked another cell. Puce. "Apart from 'he just didn't have enough fashion sense to be gay'?"

"Dude. _Not_ cool. Total stereotyping and discrimination right there." Dean tugged up Chuck's now-empty chair and straddled it, leaning forwards to flick Sam's ear and missing (of course. Sam had not, after all, been Dean Winchester's brother for twenty-two years for nothing.) "Besides, what the hell was wrong with what he was wearing? He looked all rumpled-gentleman-spy. It was hot."

"Dean. I'm working."

"Besides," Dean leaned in and stuck his head between Sam and his computer screen. "I figured it out. He got off at floor thirteen. You remember what's on floor thirteen?"

"The Lithuanian Embasy Offices?" Sam stopped and frowned. " _Dean_."

"Exactly! The only way Sexy Rumpled Guy could have ignored a hot piece of ass like mine is if he didn't have the faintest idea what I was saying." There was a slight pause as Dean built towards what was obviously the dramatic crux of his explanation. "He doesn't speak English, Sammy!"

It crossed Sam's mind to point out – politely – that one does not usually work in an embassy in the middle of a busy city in the United States without having a grasp of the language, but he did not. He had several reasons for this. One – he'd learned through long experience that once Dean had an idea in his head he was exceptionally hard to talk out of it. Two – he was tired and grumpy and he'd gotten up at _six_ so he was feeling uncharitable. Three – it was at this particular moment that they were interrupted by the source of Chuck's disappearance.

"Dean. Samuel. How lovely to see that you are making yourselves so much at home in my team. I do like to see my staff feeling comfortable."

Dean banged his head against the desk once, replacing a cell of data with _y76y76yyu_. "Ms Talbot."

Sam turned in his char and gave their manager his very best innocent look. "We're just getting back to it, Ms Talbot. Dean had a question about the rec in the x-drive. I thought I'd talk him through what I understood about it."

"So long as the 'x' rec does not become the 'triple x' rec, Samuel." Bela Talbot stared at Dean as he grumbled his way back over to his seat and then stared at Sam for good measure. She smirked while doing it, so he didn't _think_ she was particularly upset. But then again he'd gotten the impression that no one was ever quite certain when Ms Talbot was feeling what. "Do try not to let your brother's thinking appendage distract you from your work too often, Samuel."

"Um yes. Right," he said, and reminded himself yet again as Ms Talbot sashayed off to terrify another of her minions that he really did – he _really did_ love his brother.

Day 2

"Dude – check out his tie. I told you – gentleman spy _chic_."

"Dean, what the fuck?"

"No, seriously. That there is _super_ hot."

"Dean…" a desperately lowered voice. "He's standing _right there_. The elevator is _not that big_. He can _hear_ you."

"So? He can't understand me and if I don't whisper like you're doing – not very subtle, little brother – he won't know we're talking about him. Cut it out. He's going to think you're weird and then I'll be weird by association."

"Yes, because _I'm_ the weird one."

"Always have been, always will be." Dean grabbed for him and the rest of the ride to level thirteen was occupied with Sam wriggling furiously away from his brother's attempts to give him a noogie. Said attempts were briefly halted so that Dean could watch Sod in the Bad Coat and Weird Tie walk out of the elevator. _Bro, his hips are so gay_.

In defense of Dean's theory, Sod in the Bad Coat seems as little perturbed by Dean's overt appreciation of his tie as he was by the unfortunate fishing and weekending segues of the day before. Sam thought this was hardly conclusive. Dean smirked victoriously all the way to his desk and stole Chuck's mug.

Day 3

"Maybe I could learn Lithuanian."

Sam glanced up from his cellphone to see that Dean was staring with unnerving intensity at SBC. He had to assume that they weren't bothering the man too much or he could very easily have taken the stairs, or a different lift. So far they were all following the same routine – Dean parked his precious baby in the carpark. Sam tried not to spill their coffee all over his lap as he got out. They waved at Bobby, the security guard, who arrived just before they did and was always busy making sure no one except the big bosses had parked their cars overnight. They took the lift at around 6:04 am. The lift stopped at the first floor. SBC got in. He moved to stand near the back. He said nothing. Dean stared unabashedly at him. Sam pretended he wasn't there. He'd perfected that really well over his life. He liked to think of it as a super power. One day he would be able to convince Dean he wasn't there as well and he wouldn't be dragged into these ridiculous things.

"Lithuanian."

"Yeah – don't sound so dubious, Sammy boy. I could learn a language."

"Sure." Sam glanced at their companion and was relieved to see that he was still staring at the doors of the lift as though they might open suddenly and reveal unknown secrets of the universe. "Sure you could, but why? And who would teach you?"

"I could learn it online. How hard could it be to learn 'Hello'?"

"Don't you mean, "Please go out with me because I am ridiculously obsessed with you?"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"But seriously." Dean crossed his legs and gave the ceiling his thoughtful look. "I could learn how to say something, right?"

"What if you try to say 'wanna come back to my place' and instead say 'your mother knits reindeer sweaters'?"

"What?"

Sam noted SBC's face twitch ever so slightly. Aha. "It could happen."

"You're a dork, Sammy." But the contemplative look passed from Dean's face and he grinned and ogled SBC as he left the lift.

Day Four

"Dear god, Sammy, he's even hotter with the coat off."

"Well _duh_."

"Look."

"No."

"Look, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm trying to finish this e-mail. It's important."

"We spend exactly one minute and fifty-three seconds with this guy every day, Sam. You can answer the e-mail later. His sexy, sexy chest may not be there later. _Look_ goddammit."

"Sexy sexy chest?" Sam looked up and Dean crowed in triumph.

"See?"

"Yes, Dean. Very nice."

"Sound a bit more enthusiastic or I'll tell Hot Elevator Guy about your crush on Ricky Martin."

"I was _fifteen_."

"Doesn't make it any less shameful, Sammy boy."

"Fine. Your elevator boyfriend has a lovely chest. Are you happy?"

"Delighted."

The next day was the weekend. After that, their shift changed to an eight-o'clock start for a week and Dean spent the whole week moaning about missing his elevator hottie. Sam spent the whole week trying to explain to Chuck why his coffee cup was appearing in such strange places and hitting his brother for being a hyperactive jerk when he was depressed.

On the seventh day, Sam went to level thirteen on his second break and hovered uncertainly around the reception until a (really really _really_ hot) gentleman approached and eyebrowed him into submission.

"I'm – uh – looking for a … for someone who works here…" Sam hesitated, wondered if he really loved his brother this much and nearly decided that no – no he did not, this was exactly what Dean deserved for stealing both Jerry McIntoch and Marsha Grady from him in highschool when Sexy Eyebrows made a ' _go on_ ' nod and he realised the only way to get out of this without appearing to be a total loon was to forge straight ahead. "He's – sort of this high…" he indicated. "Dark hair, blue eyes, a tan coat and a kind of crumpled look to him?"

"Castiel."

"Is it?" They blinked at each other. "Oh. Right. Yes. Um – can I speak to him?"

"Are you the elevator man?"

"The what?"

"The man in the elevator who has been harassing him?" Sexy Eyebrows lowered his sexy voice to a not-so-sexy-and-really-rather-intimidating pitch.

"Uh – no?" Sam was not proud of how his voice squeaked uncertainly. "I mean – sort of? I mean… uh… that's my brother, you seen and…"

"Your brother?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Sexy Eyebrows smiled. "That's all right then. So long as _you_ aren't here to hit on Castiel."

"Me? No! I mean. No. Not that – I mean I'm sure he's very nice and…"

"I'll get him for you."

Sam let out a breath. "Thanks."

"Not at all." Sexy Eyebrows winked and walked off, giving Sam ample time to appreciate his _excellent_ taste in clothes. Yes. That was what he was looking at. Clothes. Which were not ugly crumpled tan coats. At all.

"Sam."

He jumped and then tried to make it look like he was stretching. How on earth had he not noticed SBC (or Castiel, but what the hell kind of name was that? It didn't sound eastern European at all) coming up beside him? He had not been staring after Sexy Eyebrows! He had not been metaphorically drooling! He had not started relegating people to complicated descriptors in his head! "Yes? Um! Hello!" This was not how he had planned for this to go, and that – at least – was the truth.

"Gabriel said that you wished to speak with me."

Castiel's voice was deep and had soft edges, not heavily accented but a little deliberate, as though he was considering what he had to say very thoroughly before he said it. For a wild moment Sam wondered if Castiel had still been considering his answer to Dean's first question while Dean moved on to his third that first day in the elevator.

"I did, thanks for coming to talk to me."

"It was no trouble. Would you care to step into one of the meeting rooms or will this be brief?"

"Oh, it won't take long. Look – was Dean really harassing you? Your friend – Gabriel?" Sam waited eagerly for the nod and then smiled to himself. Suck on that, Dean. I learned my guy's name in ten minutes. "Yes, well, he said that we'd been bothering you and I wanted to apologise for my brother if that's the case. He really wouldn't have kept on about it if he'd had any idea you could understand him."

"I do not understand why he would think I could not." Castiel tilted his head to one side as though he was considering a very difficult puzzle. "It is an odd conclusion to jump to."

"It made sense to him at the time, I guess. Since you haven't exactly said anything to change his mind he's just been running with it – care to explain why you've let him make a fool of himself?"

Castiel frowned and Sam could pick out the faint hint of a flush on the other man's cheeks. "It was a pleasant change for there to be no filter. I find I learn more about a person if they do not know I am listening."

"That's not cool and a little creepy, dude."

"I am aware. But your brother is refreshingly blunt." The blush deepened.

"You _like_ him." This came as more of a surprise than it should have. But then again, Castiel had god's best carved _why-are-you-bothering-me_ face, and _damn_ it, Sam shouldn't be expected to try to read any deeper than that at six in the morning! "You like my brother. Who has been hitting on you without realising you understand he's hitting on you."

Castiel said nothing. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Look, Castiel…" he sighed. "Okay. We're going to be back on the early shift next week so my brother will be back in your face. He's been moaning about missing out on seeing you every morning. I can't make you talk to him and god knows I can't stop him from talking to you. So…" Part of Sam wanted to tell Mr Castiel that he was a good and loving little brother who would protect his older brother's fragile feelings from the inevitable fallout that would culminate from a misunderstanding of this magnitude. Part of Sam found the whole situation oddly hilarious. "So – you'll tell him eventually, right? Once you've figured this…" he gestured vaguely at the whole white-shirted-blue-tied-neat-shoes person in front of him. "Out."

"Probably."

"Good. Well. Do that."

"You will not be telling him yourself, then?"

Sam hesitated. Frowned. Thought of the fact that this would win him the prank war forever. Grinned. "No."

"Very well. I will see you in the elevator."

"See you then." Sam gave a cocky little wave and hurried back to his offices only three minutes late. Zach snarled and fumed and made incredibly passive aggressive remarks, but Chuck had his coffee cup and Ms Talbot was nowhere to be seen so Sam counted himself lucky. In the background Meg was screaming at Ruby for moving her office chair and Ash was staring at Dean's computed with a sort of awed respect which Sam suspected had something to do with the number of viruses his brother had already managed to collect.

Life was not that bad, Sam thought as he changed a cell to not-the-bright-yellow and thought about Gabriel and his sexy sexy eyebrows.


	2. The fifth time

**This story was initially intended to be a series of short, disconnected snippets of conversation culminating in Castiel saying something funny. As you can see it went in a direction I wasn't expecting. I'm actually getting a bit attached to this universe and the way the characters are fitting into it. I am considering writing some missing scenes once the main plot has run its course. Let me know if there's something you'd like to see!**

 **On an unrelated note, the trailer for our show is out! You should be able to find a link on our twitter, so have a look and do not blame us for Sam's wig, it was the best we could do with our limited time and resources.**

It was getting a little worrying how often Sam was having to remind himself that he did, in fact, love his brother. A really _good_ little brother wouldn't have to chant ' _he's family, he's family, he's family'_ over and over in his head to keep himself from punching said older brother in the face.

Then again, it was _five-thirty in the morning_. And _they were waiting in a deserted carpark._ At their _office building._

The morning's conversation had gone something like this.

Sam had been dreaming of holidays in exotic locales and nothing at all about Mr Sexy Eyebrows and Smart Suits from the previous week. It had been a very pleasant dream. He'd _earned_ that dream. He'd done all of his extra study for the next semester. He had been working hard on the spreadsheets at work. He hadn't upset Ms Talbot once even though he'd been sorely tempted when she confiscated his i-pod. He'd _earned_ his eight hours of sleep, dammit.

Therefore he was less than pleased when he was wakened by a rough hand shaking his shoulder. He swatted hard at the person in question, presuming of course that he was being attacked by some inept invader because why would a brother who claimed to love him _do_ something like that?

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

"Mrg-phwa?"

"Up up up – early bird gets the tortilla and yo've got five minutes before I dump your sorry butt and get out of here."

Sam opened one eye and looked at his fully-dressed and over-eager brother. "Wha? Wh'time'sit?"

"Quarter to five."

" _Five?_ "

Dean grinned. "C'mon, Sam, up an' at 'em!"

Glaring was doing absolutely nothing to budge Dean, so Sam opened his other eye so as to redouble his efforts. "Why are you awake? We have another forty-five minutes of sleep left!"

"We gotta get to the office sharpish, Sammy. Might be heavy traffic this time of the week."

"You can't be serious."

Dean disappeared. Came back with a glass of water. Tossed it at him. "Get your ass in gear, dude. I'm not going to be late because you're counting sheep."

So here they were. In the car park. Excruciatingly early. Sam had been able to figure out why Dean was in such a rush ( _he did not do detective work well in the morning, okay?_ ) and no longer felt even slightly bad about letting Dean believe that Castiel didn't understand English.

"There's Bobby," Dean said chirpily. He got out of the car and meandered over to the security guard with a ridiculously good-natured _Hello Bobby!_ That seemed to startle Bobby as much as it did Sam. Sam dragged himself out of the car, sipping slowly at his coffee, and followed – blinking a little as he caught the tail-end of what looked like a weapon (possibly a gun?) being stuffed back into Bobby's pocket.

Odd. Policing parked cars and the front of a quiet office building didn't seem dangerous enough to require that kind of weaponry.

Sam drank both cups of coffee in silent revenge as Dean chatted to Bobby about cars and how when they'd banked enough funds to get Sammy straight through college, he was going to start saving to open up a garage of his own. It was a strangely normal conversation considering the fact that they looked like arms dealers discussing the fine points of a particularly difficult deal. Sam was beginning to wonder if Dean would end up missing his oh-so-important elevator ride after all when he heard the unmistakable sound of a cellphone alarm go off, and Dean slapped his phone, waved to Bobby and stalked purposefully towards the lift.

God save them, he was practically vibrating with excitement. _Why. Why did the universe want to punish him. He was a good person. He worked hard and studied hard and he even managed to like Dean most of the time even when he was being a jerk. He did not deserve this._

The lift doors opened and Castiel walked in as per usual, stepped to the back and face outwards with no expression. Sam thought perhaps his cheeks were a little flushed.

"I have _missed_ this guy," Dean said fervently. "I really love his hair – do you think he works to get it looking casual and messy like that or is it natural? Dude?"

"Don't drag me into your love affair, Dean."

"You're just jealous because Hot Elevator Guy likes me better."

"Whatever helps you sleep well at night."

Dean snorted and gave Castiel a very appreciative look that trekked from his hair to his shoes and took a scenic route back up. Sam hid behind his coffee cup and wished he was dead for the first time since highschool.

"I bet _he'd_ help me sleep at night."

Oh god. Sam pressed his face into his hands and pretended not to exist. Dean seemed to take this as his cue to discuss things with Castiel directly and cut out the middle man.

"Hey there, hot elevator guy. You look like you spend too much time not smiling. I'd like to see you smile. I bet it would be just as gorgeous as the rest of you. I know that probably sounds like the cheesiest line ever, but hey – I'm a man who likes to stick to the classics. Tell a fellow (or a lady) what you like, be frank, and wink." He winked. Sam knew he winked. Sam could tell when Dean was winking even with his eyes closed.

The elevator stopped. Castiel moved. The elevator doors closed on Dean calling after him "Have a fantastic day, dude!" It was some fresh sort of hell that not even junior league baseball practice could have prepared Sam for.


	3. The sixth time

**A/N - Hugest apologies everyone - apparently I managed in a rather sleep-deprived state to upload a completely incomprehensibly formatted chapter. I hope this is a little easier on the eyes and worth the wait.**

 **The Sixth Time**

Sam looked at his brother. Dean looked back. There was a long pause of silence between the basement floor and the ground floor. Next to Dean, ever floor from ground to level 12 was lit up. It was like a sadistic, evil Christmas tree, which apparently made Dean some sort of maniacal Christmas Elf, bringing terror and trouble wherever he went.

Ding.

The door opened and Castiel walked into the lift, moved to the back and stood there silently. Dean made a noise that sounded like he thought he'd been shot and for once Sam could admit to understanding what the fuss was about. Apparently _Thursday_ was Casual Friday at the Lithuanian Embassy. Mr Tan Overcoat Guy was wearing a very tight black t-shirt and even tighter jeans. And tatty red sneakers.

How subtle, Sam thought, and sipped his extra-extra-extra strength vanilla latte. He'd discovered he had less homicidal thoughts the higher his caffeine intake was at this time of the day, and considering the fact that he would (having made several pros and cons lists on the matter) overall rather like to keep his brother around, he'd adapted his coffee habits accordingly.

"Holy hell in a handbasket of rattlesnakes," Dean breathed – barely seeming to register the next officious ding as the doors opened on the first floor. "Dude. I'd like to eat you a'la mode."

Castiel looked at the doors. Sam looked at his coffee. The elevator hummed gently to the second floor and let everyone inside know that the doors were opening – then closing again.

"I hate you, Dean," Sam said evenly.

"Shut up, Sammy. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"If you start singing Captain Hammer's song, I will throw my coffee at you."

"Hot Elevator Guy might like it!"

"I will aim for your crotch."

"Bitch." Dean gave him a wounded look, then turned his attention back to Castiel, that _expression_ on his face. That _terrifying_ half-open grin with his tongue-already-in-cheek as he was _obviously_ preparing for another _awful awful_ joke and how was it that it was now ten times worse than it was when Sam thought Castiel didn't understand either of them? "I can't keep just calling you _Hot Elevator Guy_ , dude. Descriptive though it is. How about I guess some names and you help me out, here?"

"I'm not Sebastien."

"That was a freakishly fast leap to the Little Mermaid, Sammy boy. Are you sure you're not an eight-year-old girl?"

"So long as we're clear. No 'Kiss The Girl'."

Dean ignored him as the lift swept gently by the fifth floor. "I researched!" he said, with a smug grin. "Okay – Adomas? Alfredas? Albertas?"

Sam was not a praying man, but he considered seriously the idea of converting. He wasn't sure which religion he'd convert to, but it would be one where reading names from another country at someone in an attempt to guess who they were _would not be allowed_. It would be _like working on the Sabbath or eating cows._

Ding.

"Antanas? Gimme something here, man. A face or _something!"_

Ding.

"I don't even know how you'd pronounce this one."

Ding.

"Azu-Azuli-Azuolas?"

Ding.

"Benjaminas? No offence dude, but some of these names are kinda like English ones with 'inas' on the end."

Ding.

"You don't look like a Darius."

Ding.

"You look really _really_ good in that t-shirt."

Ding.

"Erikas?"

Ding. Castiel walked steadily out of the elevator.

"We'll go through F-Z next time, Hot Elevator Guy!" Dean called after him, then jabbed all the rest of the buttons on the elevator in punctuated frustration.

Ding.

"I'm going to shave your head while you sleep."

"I bet I'd look awesome bald."

 **The Seventh Time (or not quite)**

The next day Castiel was not in the lift. Dean went up and down to the ground floor twice, just in case they'd been early. If it weren't for the genuinely upset expression carefully hidden on his brother's face, Sam would have taken this opportunity to point out how _unmitigatedly creepy it was to shout names at people in an enclosed space_.

As it was he said nothing, because he was practically a saint.

Dean said nothing as well, stole Chuck's mug and disappeared to the break-room with it for at least five minutes longer than his allotted break time.


End file.
